


Things That Live Under the Ground

by HiLarpItsCat



Series: Evie's Backstory [3]
Category: Scion (Tabletop RPG)
Genre: 1980s, Aesir, Backstory, TBD IC Canon, World Tree Cafe, conclave, duel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 17:51:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6249652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiLarpItsCat/pseuds/HiLarpItsCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes talking isn't enough. The story of the first duel of the Conclave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dead Girl

It was the Player with Railroads who spoke to her first. Its voice sounded strange and tinny, like the sound of a train platform announcer. It buzzed just on the threshold of hearing. 

All it would say, though, was "Dead girl." Over and over. 

But it was the Freight Handler who talked to her the most. "It doesn't like you."

"You're our prisoners," she replied. "None of you like us."

"But you," it said. "You smell wrong. You smell of earth. You smell of damp things living in the dirt."

"How flattering," she drawled.

"You confuse it. You confuse us all. How are you up there?"

"What do you mean?" She should really leave. She's stayed longer than she should.

"You should be under the ground, but you are not. How did you get out?"

"I don't belong down there," she hissed through clenched teeth. "You do. You're the ones imprisoned down there."

"We do not understand."

She stormed out without saying a word.

***

"We have been talking," the Freight Handler tells her weeks later. 

"Excuse me?"

"Myself and the others. We have discussed you."

"We really need to figure out a way to stop you from doing that."

"We have decided. You are not one of us."

"Damn straight."

"So what are you?"

And for a moment she cannot answer.

***

Months go by. She's has been ignoring them. Finally she snaps.

"I've asked the other Scions. You never talk to them," she says.

"You are different."

"I'm not, though."

The Player starts chanting "Dirt Girl."

"Come below," the Freight Handler rumbles. "See what the depths are hiding."

"I'm leaving." But she stays. 

***

And so it begins. They rarely answer questions she asks them, and neither does she answer the questions they ask her. Sometimes their questions give away more than they intend. So does she.

It passes the time. They are almost polite, but she knows that they're looking for a weak point, some kind of opening that they could use to escape. 

Still, she talks to them. Time passes.

***

The Tool Maker was finally subdued, but still thrashed against the barriers of its new prison cell. It makes sharp metallic sounds, but no words. 

She has been volunteering for more shifts these days. Becca is worried about her, but doesn't press the issue. 

"It has energy," the Freight Handler says of the new prisoner. "It invigorates us all."

"It will settle down eventually," she says. "Like the rest of you did."

"It reminds us of better times. We used to stride the earth and grind it under our heels."

"Well, now you've got thousands of Chicago commuters walking over you every day, so I guess it all balances out," she says.

"For now."

"Yeah, just keep telling yourselves that."

"We do."

"It's not going to happen," she says.

"Soon."

"Wait, what?" But it does not answer her.

***

Something is wrong. It's too loud. Far too loud. 

The rumbling of a great train.

The smell of fire and chaff.

Metal screeching on metal.

The taste of copper blood.

A terrible infernal machine. 

It's out of control. And so very, very vast.


	2. The First Trial, The First Duel

"And how many dead?" asks Lady Frigg.

"Thirteen," says Fulla, checking her notes. "And many more injured."

"But the prisoners are contained?"

"Yes, my lady, though just barely."

"My lady," says Hlin, entering the library of Yggdrasil, "more emissaries are here. They demand retribution."

"But she did nothing," protests Vor. "We determined that the moment she arrived here."

They are discussing Evie, though none of them look her way. She is sitting in a corner, hugging her knees to her chest.

"If we release her to them," says Syn, "they will kill her. They are not in a forgiving mood."

"They need someone to blame," agrees Snotra.

"But it would be unjust," says Sjofn. "What can we do?"

Lady Frigg is silent for a long time. Then she exchanges a glance with Fulla, who turns and nods at Var. "We'll have to join, then. With the assurance of a fair trial."

"So it shall be," says Lady Frigg. To Hlin: "Go, tell Gna to send word."

***

"The jury has decided, then," says the Speaker. "Evangelina, Scion of Frigg of the Aesir, you are found not guilty of negligence related to the recent breakout attempt. You are free to go."

She stands to leave but Bran blocks her way.

"This isn't over," snarls Bran. 

"Yes, it is," says Becca firmly. She steers Evie out of the room.

***

"Bran, there must be some other way. Ashe wouldn't want you to--"

"Don't you DARE tell me what Ashe would want!" he shouts, nearly leaping across the table at her. "Her blood is on YOUR hands, no matter what the jury decided. I KNOW you talked with them. You were involved. You HAD to be involved."

"But I wasn't, Bran, I've sworn to that dozens of times. I won't duel you."

"You have to," he says.

"No, she doesn't," Becca interjects. "You issued the challenge and she didn't accept. Move on."

"I'm sorry, Bran," Evie says, trying to keep her tone gentle.

"Not yet," he sneers. "But you will be."

***

Evie knocks frantically at Becca's front door, so hard that her knuckles are scraped raw. Becca answers the door while tying the belt of her bathrobe around her waist. Midnight visits from Evie aren't unheard of, but she usually calls first. 

Becca knows immediately that something has happened.

"He burned down my cafe, Becca," Evie cries. "It's all gone. There's nothing left. I can't--"

She is overwhelmed by a fit of coughing that brings her nearly to her knees. Soon, she and Becca are both sitting on her front steps while Evie sobs into Becca's shoulder. 

"I don't know what to do," she whispers.

"You're staying here tonight," Becca says. "Tomorrow we'll figure out what comes next."

***

"The duel will commence at the count of ten," the Keeper of the Duels says. "The weapons: swords and shields. The stakes: to the death."

Bran doesn't look as though he's slept in days. Evie hasn't slept well herself. She looks over at MD, who gives her a brief nod. Channelling her power, and taking a deep breath, Evie summons the sword and shield of Columbia. 

The number ten is barely out of the Keeper's mouth when Bran charges at her, sword raised over his head. His shield he has nearly ignored completely, but he's faster than Evie expected. She barely manages to dodge out of the way. 

Binet trained her well enough, and she's practiced since then. Still, Bran has the advantages of size and strength. What's more, he has no hesitations over killing her. Anger and grief are his true weapons, and he wields them just as well as she wields her sword. He'll burn himself out eventually, but Evie isn't sure she can last that long. She dodges, side-steps, and keeps her shield in between them at all times. 

She waits for an opening and finally one appears. He charges at her again, sword ready to swing like a baseball bat. He couldn't telegraph his moves any louder if he had made up diagrams in advance. At the last second of his swing, she dematerializes her shield and crouches low. Bran overbalances and stumbles forward. Evie slams herself into his knees and, charging forward, flips him head over heels. He lands heavily on his back and his sword and shield roll out of his grasp. 

She stands over him with a sword at his chest. "Yield," she says, trying to sound calm. Her voice shakes.

"No."

She falters for a moment. "Please?" she asks quietly. He sees the pity in her eyes and is disgusted. 

Bran flings himself forward and impales himself on her sword. Evie, horrified, vanishes the sword but it is too late. 

He dies cursing her name.

"You win," says MD, shrugging.

The crowd slowly drifts away.

"What happens now?" Evie asks the Keeper of the Duels.

"His Pantheon will see to his burial. His Patron will likely send a new Scion soon. They are unlikely to pursue any retribution. You won in fair combat, and they respect that sort of thing. Of course, we would all understand if you needed a break."

"How long of a break?"

"Not too long," the Keeper says. "You've still got a job to do."

***

"Yeah, you're going to be jet-lagged for awhile, I bet," says Becca, putting Evie's suitcase into the trunk of her car. "But it's easier traveling west than east."

"I'm still going to sleep for days," Evie says, relaxing into the front passenger seat. "I, er, didn't exactly sleep much last night." She gives a slightly sheepish smile. "Or the last several nights."

"And how IS your favorite Dubliner?" Becca asks, starting the car. 

"Very well indeed," Evie giggles. "Oh," she reaches into the backseat for her carry-on bag. "He sent you a bottle of Knappogue Castle 1949, with a promise of the 1951 once it's bottled."

"He might be my favorite Dubliner too, now," says Becca. 

Eventually, Evie realizes that they aren't continuing on towards Pullman, but are pulling off at Halsted. Becca turns and heads west on Pershing. "What's going on?" Evie asks.

"I've got a surprise for you," Becca says. A small wellspring of delight begins to bubble up in Evie's stomach. 

Becca pulls the car over and parks. 

"You rebuilt it," Evie breathes in wonder, stepping out of the car. It was her cafe, shining and new in the sun. It was back.

"Well, not just me," says Becca. "It was mostly your goddess and her associates. But I did a lot of supervising-- immortals are out to lunch when it comes to indoor plumbing."

Evie leaps at her with a hug. "Thank you," is all she can manage. 

"Come on," says Becca, guiding her to the front door, "I'll help you unpack."


End file.
